


Tequila Sunrise

by a_quick_drink



Category: Dead Drop (2013)
Genre: Alternate Reality, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Polyamory, Rare Pairings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-09
Updated: 2015-08-09
Packaged: 2018-04-13 20:28:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4536225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_quick_drink/pseuds/a_quick_drink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Their plan was to get the money and disappear. Michael had one last minute change.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Casey_Wolfe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Casey_Wolfe/gifts), [dahlinjawn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dahlinjawn/gifts).



Fingers drumming on the edge of the boat, Dwight tore his gaze away from the bustling docks and gave his watch another glance. He’d arrived just ahead of five as Michael had instructed, but there was still no sign of him at almost quarter to six. Where was he? Dwight pushed away from the edge and wandered back inside, shuffling aimlessly through the mess of forged passports, documentation, and plane tickets covering the small salon table. Anything to take his mind off Michael being almost an hour late.

Had something gone wrong? He’d wanted to follow Michael–for backup, he’d said–but Michael had assured him he needed to finish things with Santiago alone. He’d grab the money before heading to the docks, and then they’d be gone; nothing more than casualties of a war forever waged in the darkest corners of the world. At least that had been their plan since Michael had arrived in Mexico, and he’d given Dwight no indication that anything had changed.

Was Michael playing him too? Michael excelled at his job, and for as much as Dwight liked to believe he knew the man as well as he knew himself, there were times doubt niggled at his mind. Not because Michael gave him reason to but because the possibility was always there. Michael had already manipulated the hearts of two people to get this far into the mission, maybe he was number three.

Shaking off the thought, Dwight looked at his phone and then the clock hanging on the wall. A few minutes to six. Should he go after Michael; try retracing the steps the man was supposed to have taken?

Heavy thumps on the deck outside drew Dwight’s attention. Pulling his gun, he crept toward the source of the sound. He was in no mood for visitors right now, and no way in hell was he letting anything ruin their months of planning when freedom was so close that he could taste it. Or maybe that was just the shot of tequila he’d downed at five-thirty to calm his nerves. 

Dwight followed a large shadow around the corner and froze, gun trained on the figure standing behind Michael. “What’s he doing here?” he growled.

Michael nervously licked his lips as he glanced over his shoulder at Santiago, and then back to Dwight. “Just hear me out, okay?” Throwing his hands up in a placating gesture, Michael took a step to the left so the gun was pointing at him. “I wasn’t planning on it, but I…I love him.”

Dwight bit the inside of his lip, focusing on the physical pain instead of the ache in his chest as his heart shattered. He’d trusted Michael when it was wiser not to, and now he understood why their superiors always advised against such relations. “And what about me?” he bit out. 

“I still love you.”

“But not like him, right?” His arm wavered, and he let Michael gently pry the gun from his hand and set it aside. What good was it anyway? He’d never be able to shoot Michael, couldn’t even shoot the bastard he’d lost to because there was no way could he ever do something that would hurt Michael. 

Slipping an arm around his waist, Michael steered them away from Santiago, who’d stuffed his hands in his pockets and directed his attention to the sun lowering in the distance. Part of Dwight wanted to punch him, but another part was curious why the drug lord lacked the smug, victorious grin he expected of any man in a similar position.

Once out of sight, Michael pulled Dwight against him and kissed him tenderly. Dwight let himself enjoy the kiss for only a moment before he pushed Michael away. God, how he’d miss this–all of it. But the sooner he could get this over with, the sooner he could forget all the touches and promises and heartache. He would go back to the CIA and lose himself in his work, no one the wiser to his plan to disappear. 

“I know what you’re thinking,” Michael murmured, “but this isn’t goodbye.”

Dwight turned his back to him and squeezed his eyes shut, tamping all the sadness and anger that threatened to spill out. “Then what is it because that’s what it looks like to me.” Michael put a hand on Dwight’s shoulder, but he shrugged it off.

“It’s… It’s me having more love than I know what to do with.”

“Then we’ll get a dog. Lots of dogs. Or cats. Whatever you want.”

Michael huffed a laugh. “Not that kind of love.” He hugged Dwight from behind, molding himself to Dwight’s back and refusing to be pushed away again. He pressed a kiss to Dwight’s neck, and then nuzzled against it like an affectionate house cat. Dwight shivered. “It’s a lot to take in right now, I know, but I hope you’ll give me a chance to help you understand.” Another kiss, this time behind his ear. “To give San a chance.”

Mulling this over, he leaned against Michael. No, he still didn’t really understand it, but could he given time? And what if he ultimately couldn’t? It wouldn’t be fair to either of them if this was important to Michael. But he could try. Deep down, he suspected he could work with this; the real problem for him was Santiago.

“Have you slept with him?”

“No.” Michael’s answer was firm and confident, leaving no doubt in Dwight’s mind that it was the truth. 

“But you want to.”

“Only with your permission.” Michael nipped at his earlobe. “But I’d much rather have him join us.”

Dwight patted his arm. “One thing at a time here, okay?” He supposed Santiago was physically attractive, but the whole pretty rich boy thing didn’t do much for him. Those impossibly thick eyelashes and dark eyes, though, those could be dangerous if he gave them too much thought. 

“Thank you.” Michael gave him another squeeze and finally released him. He laced their fingers together and tugged Dwight after him, toward the other side of the boat. And Santiago. Oh God, what had he agreed to?

“Just so you know, I’d rather have the dogs.”


	2. Chapter 2

The tiny Philippine fishing village was everything they needed to start over: secluded, quiet, and most of all welcoming. Though current residents had initially been curious about the three outsiders, everyone returned to business as usual once the novelty wore off. Santiago had charmed them almost immediately, and both him and Michael could be found lending a hand around the aging village much to the delight of the older women. Dwight preferred spending his free time at the docks, helping the fisherman haul in the catches that sustained the village. It was a good life they’d temporarily settled into, though some didn’t seem to adjust as quickly as others.

“He okay?” Dwight asked, leaning against the wooden support of the back porch. The wood creaked under the strain. It needed to be replaced but they’d left it for the time being since there was no telling where they’d be days or weeks from now, let alone anything longer. Even tomorrows were no guarantee when you followed the trail of money.

Michael came up behind him and followed his gaze to the copse of scraggly foliage that separated the property from the beach. Beyond that sat Santiago who'd said barely more than a handful of words all morning, and had spent the rest of the day watching waves lap at the shore. Dwight still couldn’t read the nuances of Santiago’s every mood but he knew enough to let him be.

“He’s homesick,” Michael said.

“Have you talked to him about it?”

“Only enough to know that much.” Michael gave a helpless shrug. “You know I’m not really good at understanding that kind of thing.”

No, Dwight supposed he didn’t. ‘Home’ was a foreign concept to Michael, whose childhood experience was living with a neglectful mother who’d never wanted him in the first place, and a parade of one asshole boyfriend of hers after another. Home was a place you ran away from. It was wherever the CIA sent you for God knew how long. They couldn’t care less whether you lived or died either but at least they paid for your trouble. Michael found safety in movement, a lessened chance of being hurt the less he lingered. Either you kept up with him or you waited for him to return whenever he was good and ready. Loving Michael meant never putting roots anywhere.

“Need anything from the market?” Michael threw over his shoulder as he turned to go back inside. Dwight declined, and Michael took off. Typical. Always finding an out when things got complicated. 

What was it they both saw in him again?

Before he could spend any more time analyzing that thought, Dwight instead went to the fridge, grabbed two bottles of cold beer, and wandered down to the beach. He still didn’t quite understand his relationship to Santiago but the man was a friend at the very least. A friend with a boyfriend behaving badly that he could relate all too well to.

“Aren’t you roasting in this weather?” Dwight asked as he dropped onto the sand and offered Santiago the other bottle.

Santiago took the bottle and twisted off the cap. “I’m used to it,” he said, offering him a weak smile in return.

They nursed their beers in comfortable silence, letting the seagulls carry the conversation for them. It was rare Dwight found time to stop and take a breather from his chaotic life, even more rare that he used the free time doing absolutely nothing. It was…nice.

Dwight pushed his bottle into the sand and settled back on his elbows. “Kind of reminds me of Mexico.”

“Reminds me of Xcalak.” A wistful smile curved Santiago’s lips. “Have you ever been there?” Dwight shook his head. He never had time for recreation when he was working. “I can trick myself into thinking that’s where I am whenever I come down here. But then it’s back to work and I realize I can’t understand what anyone’s saying, and everything is similar but yet so different. Little things remind me it’s not the same.”

“You miss it?”

“I do. Leaving never bothered me because I knew I could always return, but now?” Santiago blew out a sigh and gave his beer a swirl. “Miguel doesn’t understand. I thought I could do all of this”–he gestured between them, and then at the ocean–“but sometimes I think maybe it was too much at once.”

Pillowing his head on his hands, Dwight stretched out and stared up at the lone puff of cloud drifting above them. They’d somewhat discussed this relationship they all had, but then they’d gotten swept up in work and mostly forgot about it. The only thing that mattered at those times was how nice it was to have a competent, trustworthy third gun. But those moments when they weren’t being shot at? Well, things weren’t working as far as he was concerned. They were all friends now, but it was difficult viewing Santiago through anything but a lens of jealousy that seemed mutual. 

“You don’t like sharing him.”

Santiago glanced down at him, the corner of his mouth ticked up in a knowing smirk. “Do you?”

Returning the smirk, Dwight asked, “Do you want the honest answer or the one Michael would want?”

“If you have to ask that then I think we are already in agreement.”

“Then I don’t imagine you’d give him up, would you?”

“Not unless you kill me.”

“I could make it look like an accident,” Dwight mused.

“I wouldn’t.” Santiago flashed him a toothy grin, and they both broke into laughter. 

When Santiago looked at him again, the grin had softened into a smile that made Dwight’s heart stutter. In truth, he quite liked Santiago’s mellow personality, the way it lapped over him and smoothed away the rougher edges even in times of chaos. Santiago was much like the ocean he so admired: peaceful and constant, but dangerous if you didn’t give him the respect he deserved. 

Dwight turned his gaze back to the sky. Another cloud had joined the first, the two playing a lazy game of tag as they coasted by. He could acknowledge Santiago’s appeal if he wasn’t with Michael, but then wasn’t having both the point of all this? _Goddammit, Michael, why do you always make everything so complicated?_

“You know,” Santiago purred, drawing the pad of his thumb across Dwight’s lower lip, “maybe the problem is that we haven’t given ourselves permission to do this.” The unexpected touch startled Dwight, though he had to admit he enjoyed it.

But Santiago was right. Michael had given them free rein to do whatever they wanted–had encouraged it even–but they’d just let it slide, keeping one another at arm’s length while secretly hoping the other would get eliminated from the equation. Could he honestly love someone else the same way he did Michael? Thoughts of himself with Santiago as his lover always left him feeling guilty after, and no amount of convincing himself that it wasn’t cheating made up for the fact that it sure as hell felt like he was.

As if reading his mind, Santiago set his own bottle aside and turned toward him, pulling off his sunglasses and blinking to adjust his eyes to the bright light. Seeing those brown eyes staring at him with such intensity made Dwight’s breath hitch in this throat. This time it had nothing to do with the suffocating humidity, and his mind groped for reasons to turn away–run away–but he was pinned in place by Santiago’s gaze. Something flickered in Santiago’s eyes–hesitation maybe?–before he licked his lips and leaned over Dwight. 

Fire rolled through Dwight’s veins at the first tentative brush of their lips. It wasn’t the explosive reaction of fire and gasoline like he and Michael had. Instead, this reminded him of a midsummer thunderstorm rolling in from the water, all-consuming and invigorating; the kind that lingered for hours but left sunshine and blue skies in its wake. Where Michael was fierce passion and adventure, Santiago was quiet intensity and grounding. To have them both…

Santiago shifted again, lowering himself on top of Dwight, hesitant as he stretched out and fitted himself against Dwight’s larger frame. Unlike Michael’s over-eager, sloppy kisses, Santiago delivered each kiss of his leisurely exploration with absolute precision. “We could torture Miguel like this,” Santiago purred.

Hooking a leg over Santiago’s hip, Dwight flipped them over and tossed his own sunglasses away. “By doing this in front of him?” He ducked his head and nipped at Santiago’s jaw.

“That too. But I get the impression he is…impatient in bed, yes?” Santiago asked, fingers carding through Dwight’s hair. Dwight hummed a positive note, stilling and letting his eyes fall shut as he reveled in the affection he never knew he needed. “Maybe,” Santiago murmured, “we should teach him the virtue of patience.”

“He’ll probably try to kill us.”

Santiago turned his head and nuzzled Dwight’s cheek. “Oh, I think we all know how well that worked out the last time.”


End file.
